You, Me, Birds, Bees
by ArwenLalaith
Summary: Sequel to The Five of Us at Christmas. Five times Charlotte talked to her father about the birds and the bees.
1. Five Years Old

**AN: As a special thank you to KH-Scribes, I'd like to dedicate this story to them...I've been going through some severe health issues lately and their reviews have been a special pick-me-up when I'm feeling crappy. One of the chapters in this story is going to get a little dark, but I'll post a warning at the top so you can avoid it if it's going to trigger you. Also, I've written the smut part that precedes this chapter and if you'd like to read that one, please let me know and I'll post it! Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews!**

* * *

When Emily limped into the kitchen, Ian glanced up at her from his task of attempting to feed Gemma applesauce, grinning entirely too smugly upon noticing her obvious soreness.

"Eventful night?" he asked pleasantly, eyes glinting mischievously as he watched her lean over to kiss the top of Gemma's head, fingerprint bruises on her hips peeking out as her shirt rode up.

Emily bit her lip to keep her lascivious grin from breaking free, feeling his eyes on her. "Little ears are everywhere..." she reminded him.

He wrapped an arm around her hips, pulling her into his lap. "That didn't stop you last night..." he husked by her ear. "I made you scream my name over and over and _over_."

"You say that like you didn't enjoy every second of it," she retorted with a breathy laugh, then pulled him in for a kiss.

"Careful, Love, you'll get yourself in trouble if you keep kissing me like that..."

"Keep your hands to yourself, mister," she scolded, "I can barely walk right now..."

He drew her in for another kiss, chuckling against her lips.

They were interrupted by a sound from the doorway and they broke apart to find Charlotte glaring at them.

"Morning, Lottie," Emily greeted her daughter pleasantly, in spite of the girl's frown. She stood quickly, crossing the room to ruffle the girl's bedhead in greeting.

Ian too bent down to give her a hug and kiss, but the child shrugged out of his embrace. "What's wrong, mo storín?" he asked, looking questioningly at Emily who just shrugged, as confused as he was. Ian was usually the favourite parent, so this was particularly unusual behaviour.

"I saw you..." Charlotte said accusingly, staring him down, entirely too like her mother for Ian's liking.

"What did you see, Lottie?" Emily asked, kneeling down to her level.

Charlotte broke down in tears, flinging herself into Emily's arms, wailing. "H-he w-was hur-hur-hurting youuuuu," she cried.

Emily met Ian's eyes, bewildered.

"I would never hurt your Ma," he insisted, attempting again to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"I _saw_," she insisted, sobbing pitifully, once again rebuffing his affection.

Emily lifted Charlotte into her arms, rubbing her back soothingly as she sniffled into her shoulder. Once her tears faded into quiet hiccups, she settled Charlotte on her lap and asked again, "What happened?"

"I came into your room, even though I'm not s'posta after bedtime, but you were screaming and I saw Daddy on top of you and he was hurting you!"

Emily could see Charlotte's bottom lip wobbling again and attempted to head off the oncoming tears. "Daddy wasn't hurting me," she insisted with a weary sigh – she'd been hoping to have a few more years before having this conversation...but Charlotte had always been rather precocious.

Charlotte looked at her suspiciously. "He wasn't?"

"No," she promised, "Mommy wanted him to do that."

Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "But you were screaming..."

"It was a...happy scream," she said awkwardly, not quite ready to explain to her five year old that she liked rough sex.

"But _why_?" she pressed.

Emily looked beseechingly at Ian, silently begging for help, but he just shrugged helplessly, steadfastly avoiding Charlotte's gaze. "Sometimes when two grown ups love each other very much, they have a special hug called sex..." she explained, hoping her face wasn't as bright red as it felt.

"Sounds yucky," Charlotte declared.

"You don't even know what it is," Emily pointed out. She just shrugged, resolute in her decision. "Anyway," Emily continued, shaking her head, "The point is that what you saw last night was Mommy and Daddy showing we love each other. He wasn't hurting me, so it's okay."

"But why?" Charlotte asked, head cocked quizzically.

"Why what?"

"Why do you do sex?" she asked.

"Well," Emily said slowly, chewing her lip. "It's how babies are made."

"Nooooo!" Charlotte wailed.

Ian groaned, looking like he might have an aneurysm if the conversation continued. "What's wrong now, Charlotte?"

"I don't _want_ another baby!" she moaned.

"It doesn't mean there's going to be a baby," Emily insisted, a little desperately – she was praying Declan would stay asleep and she wouldn't have to figure out an age appropriate way to explain to him as well... "That's just a sometimes thing..."

"How?"

"How what?" she said, sounding defeated.

"How do you know not this time?"

"I just know," she promised, also not about to tell her five year old that it was hard to make a baby when Ian had been doing her in the ass...

"_But_..." Charlotte pressed, curious and full of questions as ever.

"I think that's enough questions for one morning," Ian declared firmly, lifting Charlotte off Emily's lap. "Quit pestering your Ma." What he meant was, _Please stop asking embarrassing questions and stay my innocent little girl forever._

"But I wanna _know_," she said with a pout.

"When you're older," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"_Promise _there's no baby?" she pressed.

"I promise," he said with a mischievous wink at Emily, causing her cheeks to pink. "Now, it's time for breakfast."

"Lucky Charms!" she demanded, dictator in princess pyjamas.

"Nice try," Emily scoffed. "Like you need more sugar." She filled a bowl with Cheerios instead.

"Well, that was fun," Ian whispered as Charlotte shovelled cereal into her mouth.

Emily glared at him. "You could've been more helpful."

"Hey, you were the one screaming like a banshee last night," he teased, hand wandering along her hip and onto her ass.

"You were the one slamming the headboard against the wall," she retorted, swatting his hand away.

"You were the one who wanted it in the ass," he replied, smirking.

"Well, you didn't protest very hard..." He just laughed. "You're incorrigible," she said, shaking her head, but she was grinning as she leaned in for a kiss.

"Remind me to install a lock on the bedroom door," he added as he pulled away. "I don't fancy having to have a repeat of this conversation with Declan..."

"Coward," she muttered teasingly.


	2. NSFW Addendum

**AN: Here's the NSFW addendum to the previous chapter. It's pure smut and adds nothing to the story, so feel free to skip it if that's not your bag.**

* * *

When she'd first started dating Ian, Emily expected that sooner or later, he'd get bored of her (assuming Charlotte didn't scare him off first). She was young and inexperienced and once the novelty of that wore off, she assumed he'd get bored, no matter how many times he told her he wasn't interested in her because she was innocent.

Their sex life was admittedly rather tame at first: she was shy and he didn't want to scare her off or make her feel used. Her only previous experience had been with John Cooley and he hadn't even tried to get her wet before he'd thrusted a few times inside her and came (either not knowing or not caring that it was supposed to be enjoyable for her too). Ian, though, was different; the first time they'd had sex, he'd taken the time to really pleasure her and had given her her first orgasm and she'd finally understood why people _enjoyed _sex.

By the time Gemma started sleeping through the night – following several months in which they hadn't had sex at all while she recuperated from childbirth and Gemma had insisted on cluster-feeding all night long – Ian had proven himself true to his word: he wasn't with her just for sex.

He made her feel desirable and, more than that, he made her feel loved and supported and because of that she was able to find a bold and adventurous side of her she hadn't known existed. And slowly, she had proven herself to be kinkier than either of them had anticipated...

"And what is it you do, Lauren?" Ian drawled by her ear, fastening her wrists behind her back with a belt.

A frisson of excitement coursed down her spine. She bit her lip coyly, looking up at him from her place on her knees, trying not to seem too eager. "Right now, I'm trying to get into business with a former IRA captain, he's gone freelance – you might've heard of him: Valhalla?"

"Yeah, I might know him..." He pulled his hardening cock from his boxer-briefs, stroking it until he was fully erect. He stayed just out of her reach, teasing her with what she couldn't have; her eyes glinted with want, hungry gaze never straying from his cock.

"Well, since this is sensitive," she breathed, tongue flicking out over her lips in that way that never failed to make him weak in the knees. She met his gaze then, eyes dark with desire and mischief. "_E__s __qu'__on peut __parler en__ privé..._"

A devilish grin crossed his lips. He shook his head slowly, reminding himself to maintain control – which was harder than anticipated in the moment, her acting entirely too convincing, the fantasy too captivating. _"__Tu est plein de__s__ surprise__s__, dis donc?"_

"_S__i__ tu savais..."_

He nearly groaned as those words left her lips; he wanted her so badly in that moment, it was all he could do to keep from holding her down and ramming into her until she screamed his name. Leaning down, he ran a hand almost tenderly along her cheek. "Perhaps you should show me..." he said, one thumb stroking her bottom lip.

Emily grinning up at him as he drew himself up to his full height over her, her eyes glinting flirtatiously as she opened her mouth wide, ready and eager to accept his cock into her mouth.

It had taken her awhile to get the hang of this, to be able to enjoy sucking his cock – he'd insisted that she didn't have to do it if she didn't want to (and he'd meant it – he'd never once forced her to do anything she wasn't comfortable with and, in fact, it had taken her continued insistence that she wanted it before he'd been willing to tie her up for the first time), but she could tell he was thrilled she'd come to enjoy pleasuring him like this. And it didn't hurt that he was equally skilled at pleasuring her with his mouth and he never failed to give her a mind-blowing orgasm in return.

She maintained eye contact and her devilish smile as she bobbed her head, taking him in until he hit the back of her throat, gagging slightly. He had to force himself to look away from the sight of her on her knees, red lips wrapped around his cock before the image caused him to come undone all too soon; how the girl who'd been so inexperienced and almost shy when they'd first met had come to be such a vixen, he'd never know, but he certainly wasn't about to complain.

One calloused hand wiped at the spittle that formed at the corners of her lips, then slid around the back of her head where he clutched a fistful of her hair – a little too roughly – and she knew he was enjoying it...and she couldn't help but enjoy that hint of roughness too.

She flicked her tongue out over the head of his cock and he shivered as she found just the right spot, letting her lavish it with attention for a moment until he was on the verge of coming. Then, he demanded, "Stop. I've got other plans for you..."

His grin was almost wicked as she pulled away, breathless. With the back of her hand, she wiped the saliva from her lips, then pouted up at him. "I wasn't done yet..." she replied all sass and sultry and he couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten so lucky as to have her.

He yanked sharply on the restraint around her wrists until she was within reach of the headboard where he bound her. "I've been waiting to get you on your hands and knees," he rasped, voice gravelly with arousal as he forced her down onto her elbows.

She opened her mouth to reply, no doubt something smart-mouthed, but she didn't get the chance before he was kissing along her naked back, lips pressing against the ridges of her spine, sweet and gentle, making her give a contented little sigh that changed suddenly to a gasp when he tangled one hand in her hair and tugged sharply. The pain travelled straight to her cunt, leaving her breathless and eager for more.

Lips next to her ear, he chuckled softly like he knew exactly what it did to her. He ran two knuckles across her entrance, feeling her wetness seeping out over his fingers. "Slut," he hissed, offering her his fingers which she readily took into her mouth, sucking her juices off of them.

When she released his fingers from her mouth, he returned them to her cunt, slipping them inside her. "So wet for me," he husked, slipping his fingers along her slit, slicking her up with her juices. She wriggled impatiently under him, eager for more. "Something you need, Love?" he taunted, withdrawing his fingers from inside her.

"More," she insisted. "I need more."

"Greedy little thing," he scolded, slapping her ass with an open palm, sending stinging pain deep into her muscle and she whimpered.

"_Please_..." she added.

At her request, he pressed one finger into her asshole, producing a low keening sound from deep in her throat. He gave her a moment to adjust before adding another finger, pumping them slowly in and out, never quite giving her enough to satisfy.

"Yes," she panted, "Don't tease me... I need _more_."

He clicked his tongue scoldingly as he withdrew his fingers. "Patience, Love." She could hear the unmistakable sound of him stroking his cock, slicking it up with lube in preparation to fuck her good and hard.

"Screw patience," she said, "Fuck me already!"

"You've got a filthy mouth," he said, slapping her ass again. But he obliged her request, pressing inside her inch by inch until his hips were flush with her ass.

She moaned at the intrusion, head falling forward so her hair fell in a curtain in front of her face. With one hand, he reached over to tuck her hair behind her ear, tender even as he fucked her roughly. Her eyes fluttered shut at the gesture and she couldn't help the small smile that quirked her lips, even if he couldn't see.

Once he was fully seated inside her and he'd given her a moment to adjust (not too long because she liked it rough), he started moving. His breaths ghosted, warm and heavy, across the back of her neck as he panted with each thrust into her, his fingertips pressing into her hips as he kept her canted to receive him.

He set a leisurely pace at first, like he wanted to enjoy her as much as possible, but she was eager and impatient, rocking her hips against him with each thrust. "Em, slow down," he groaned, "I want to enjoy you...you're so fucking tight."

He pressed a hand on her shoulders, stilling her movement, and she whimpered, pouted. "Harder," she demanded.

He slapped her ass again and he could see the faintest outline of his handprint bright red on her skin. "You're getting awfully mouthy," he scolded, "I might have to punish you..."

Her breath caught in her throat at the threat and she tried not to let her imagination wander with what kind of punishment he might have in mind. If her hands hadn't been tied up, she would have been touching herself at the thought.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said, entirely too smugly, as if reading her mind. "You'd like to be tied up and treated like the whore you are..." He sped up his thrusts, pulling out until only the tip of his cock was inside, then plunging back in to the hilt, slamming into her until she was mewling and begging him to let her come.

"Touch me," she whimpered.

"Ask nicely," he demanded.

"Ian, please..." she begged, "Please, let me come..."

"Since you asked so nicely..." he granted, dipping three fingers into her soaked cunt, roughly thrusting them inside her, working her to a fever pitch. Her begging became nonsensical curses, her hands clutching at the sheets below her, and he knew she was on the edge of release when her back arched, taut as a bowstring beneath him.

He finally finished, spilling hotly into her ass, moments before she came with a scream of his name and when he pulled out, she could feel his come dripping out of her and she shuddered with pleasure. "Untie me?" she plead, wanting to touch herself, already hungry for more.

"You really are insatiable, aren't you?" he scolded with a click of his tongue, but his sly grin betrayed the fact that he wanted to watch.

She just grinned wickedly.


	3. Eight Years Old

"I'm older now," Charlotte said matter-of-factly one day, looking up from her homework to fix Ian with an imperious look. She had recently turned eight and insisted she was all grown up.

Ian glanced up from the science homework he was attempting to help her with (though, truthfully, he was stymied...he'd never been the best student, afterall). "You're a very big girl," he agreed with a fond smile at his adopted daughter, reaching over to tweak her nose.

Charlotte continued to stare at him, head cocked, impatience in her eyes. When he failed to elaborate, she added, "You said when I was older, you'd tell me where babies come from..."

A little desperately, he called down the hall to the bathroom where Emily seemed to live these days with round the clock morning sickness. "Uh... Em? Situation..."

"Handle it!" she barked back, followed by a heavy retching sound.

"Alright," he sighed, looking like a man headed to the gallows. With a glance back at Declan and Gemma who were both preoccupied watching cartoons and weren't about to overhear anything they shouldn't, he nodded. "Ask away..."

"You had sex..." Charlotte said accusingly. It wasn't a question.

He winced, nodded. "That's how babies are made." It had taken nearly two years of trying for them to get pregnant this time, in spite of how suddenly Gemma had happened. He wasn't about to explain that to her, though.

"But _how_?" she pressed.

He pursed his lips, silently wishing for a way out, but knowing Charlotte was too persistent to let the matter go. "You know how chickens lay eggs? And sometimes the eggs hatch into baby chicks?"

She nodded.

"Inside a girl, there are lots of really tiny eggs. And during _sex_..." (he said the word like it was poison), "A boy makes sperm that joins the egg and forms a little baby that grows for nine months until it's ready to come out."

"I'm a chicken?" Charlotte asked skeptically.

"No...but you have eggs inside you for when you're ready to have babies." Then, under his breath, he added, "Hopefully not until you're thirty."

"When will I be ready?" she asked, either not hearing him or ignoring him.

"You _can _when you're about fifteen – your body will tell you when you're ready. But you should wait until you're all grown up," he said in his sternest 'dad voice'. "You should wait until you're married. When you're thirty."

"Mom didn't..." she pointed out, all sass. "She was _sixteen_."

Emily emerged from the bathroom then, still looking rather green. She flopped down on the couch, exhausted. "Just because I did, doesn't mean you should," she said firmly. "Having a baby is hard work and just because your body tells you it's ready, doesn't mean you _are _ready."

"Then why did you?" she asked.

"Because I thought I was ready to have sex, but I wasn't – I was doing it for the wrong reasons. And I didn't use protection."

"What's that?" Charlotte asked, "Like a sword?"

"No," Emily said, rolling her eyes.

At the same moment, Ian said, "Yes!"

"It's called a condom," Emily said, shooting Ian a glare. "A boy puts it on his penis so his sperm can't get to the egg and you should always _always _use one until you're ready for a baby."

Charlotte wrinkled her nose. "Did you forget?" she asked seriously, patting Emily's still flat stomach.

"We wanted to have a baby," Emily insisted.

"Well, _I _didn't," Charlotte insisted back, rolling her eyes.

"Yesterday you said you did," Ian pointed out.

"I changed my mind. Now I don't."

"Well, it's too late now," he said with a shrug.

"How long 'til the baby hatches?" she asked.

"Hatches?" Emily repeated, brow raised.

"You're a chicken," Charlotte informed her merrily.

"I'm not a chicken," she groaned, shaking her head, "And neither are you. Your baby brother or sister will come in six months."

"How does it get out?"

"When it's time, I'll push the baby out of my vagina," she said, "It's hard work and it hurts because the baby will be big and the vagina has to stretch to make room for it."

Charlotte thought about that for a moment. "Maybe you should just keep it inside, okay?"

"It doesn't work like that." Emily tenderly stroked her daughter's cheek. "I know you don't want a brother or sister right now, but remember how much you loved Gemma when she was born? I promise you'll love the new baby just as much."

"Maybe you should stop having sex," Charlotte declared after a moment pondering that.

Ian rubbed his temples wearily. He missed the days when she was sweet and innocent and didn't ask difficult questions.

"That's none of your business, Nosey Rosie," Emily scolded. "When you're all grown up, you can make that decision for yourself. But _not_ when you're sixteen."

Charlotte shrugged and went back to her homework. "Do you love me?" she asked after several moments of silence passed.

"Of course!" Emily insisted. "Why would you ever think we don't?"

"You didn't want me..."

"Oh, sweetie," she whispered, pulling her daughter into her chest. "You were a surprise, but I loved you from the very first moment and so did your Dad, okay? And even though we planned Gemma and this baby, doesn't mean we love you any less."

"Promise?" she asked, voice soft and meek and so unlike her.

"Of course, mo storín," Ian promised. "We love you forever and ever and three days after that."

"Even when the new baby comes?"

"Even if there were a hundred babies. Even if you turned into a gorilla. Even if you have a baby when you're sixteen...but you won't because you're so much smarter than me," Emily insisted.

Charlotte puffed up her little chest in pride. "I'm the smartest kid in my whole class," she insisted, "'Cause I know 'bout sex and no one else did when I telled them!"

Ian groaned. "You get to handle that when the school calls..."


	4. Fourteen Years Old

Charlotte climbed into the car without making eye contact with her father, cheeks glowing red. "Hi, Dad," she said sullenly, staring determinedly at her shoes.

Ian gently pressed a hand to her forehead, checking for fever, confused and concerned – Charlotte rarely got sick, so the fact that the school had called him to pick her up was disconcerting.

"Dad, stop," Charlotte scolded, swatting his hand away. "Where's Mom? She was supposed to come."

The rejection stung a little and he couldn't help the hurt that flashed across his face. There was a time when he was the only one she wanted when she was sick, but apparently things had changed now that she was a teenager and he couldn't help but miss his little Lottie. "Your Ma's working today," he said in apology. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Charlotte scowled, arms crossed over her chest.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it," he insisted. "Are you sick? Do you need the hospital?"

"I'm fine."

"Then, what's wrong?" he asked, "Are you being bullied?" His eyes flashed murderously at the imagined threat to his baby girl.

"Dad, _no_," she snapped. "I need to talk to Mom. Just _drive_."

"You're out of luck, mo storín," he said, pulling away from the curb, trying not to take her rejection personally.

"I need _Mom_!" she demanded. Then, she burst into tears.

The suddenness and violence of the mood swings in his normally consistently cheerful daughter took Ian by surprise and he turned to study her quizzically as they pulled up to a red light. As he watched her sob pitifully, feeling awful that he couldn't make her feel better, realization dawned on him. "Oh, God, you're... You've..."

"Don't say it," she begged, face flaming red all over again.

He sighed, feeling his own face heating up a little. He'd been with Emily long enough to not be quite as squeamish around the subject of her period, but dealing with his daughter's was an entirely different situation... "Well, I'm afraid I won't be of much use to you," he said apologetically. "But your mother won't be home 'til late, so I guess I'll have to do."

"But I need her..." she whimpered, wiping her tears and smeared mascara with the sleeve of her sweater.

When he'd adopted Charlotte, this eventuality hadn't even occurred to him...but he was her father and now that the moment was upon him, he knew he had to step up, no matter how awkward and uncomfortable it was. "I suppose we need to stop at the drug store, then?"

But once they got to the drug store, she refused to get out of the car. Apparently, it was up to him to do something he'd never done before: face the feminine products aisle alone.

* * *

When they got home, he wordlessly handed her the drug store bag, not quite able to meet her eyes (not that she was making eye contact anyway).

It was heavier than she'd expected and, when she peered inside, tears welled in her eyes. He'd not only gotten her several different brands of tampons and some pain relievers, but also a package of Oreos and a container of cookie dough ice cream.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I know when your Ma..." he trailed off, cleared his throat again, "She likes sweets. And I know those are your favourites."

She flung her arms around him, sobbing.

"Please don't cry, mo storín," he begged, gently rubbing her back. "I can't stand to see you cry." When she continued to sniffle into his shirt, he floundered momentarily. "How about I run you a bubble bath in the big tub?" he offered, knowing that usually worked with Emily.

She nodded against his chest with a pitiful sound.

"After, you can get in your pyjamas and we'll watch _Cinderella_," he offered because even at fourteen, it was still her favourite movie (even if they'd both seen it a million and one times). "And maybe you'll see fit to share your ice cream..."

She hugged him tighter and all he could do was hug her back and tenderly kiss the top of her head, wishing she'd grow up just a little slower, be his little girl just a little longer.

"I'm not sharing," she mumbled into his chest, making him laugh, the deep rumble of it vibrating against her cheek.

* * *

When Emily returned home from work, both Charlotte and Ian were asleep on the couch as the credits rolled. She was cuddled into him, head lolling on his shoulder, heating pad clutched to her middle. He had his arms wrapped protectively around her, guarding his most precious treasure against any threat.

Emily gently prodded him awake. "What happened?" she asked, nodding to Charlotte who snuffled softly in her sleep. "Is she sick?"

He yawned, stretched, trying not to disturb his sleeping daughter. "She started her..." he trailed off again, still unable to actually say the words.

Emily blanched, worried her lip in concern. "Is she alright? What did you do? How did you..."

"I handled it," he insisted, interrupting her panic. "This isn't my first rodeo, afterall, as you Americans say." He leveraged himself out from under Charlotte, settling her head on a pillow and tenderly draping a blanket over her.

Emily smiled softly, watching him dote on the daughter he'd never hesitated to love as his own. "I'm proud of you," she whispered.

"What for?" he asked, raising a brow, not sure if he should be offended or not.

"Most fathers wouldn't be caught dead buying tampons..." she pointed out.

"If my little girl needs them, I'll damn well get them for her," he said seriously. "Any man that wouldn't doesn't deserve to be a father."

She leaned in to kiss him, heart swelling with love for him, knowing Charlotte had gotten so lucky: her own father may not have wanted her, but random chance had given her the best father anyone could have and Emily was thankful everyday that her daughter got to experience that love and devotion.

He interrupted her silent gratitude with a whisper of, "But please be here for Gemma's first time... I don't think my heart can handle doing that again."

Emily couldn't help but laugh.


	5. Eighteen Years Old

**AN: This chapter is a little dark and possibly triggering. I've tried to keep it just vague enough, but keep that in mind and feel free to skip this chapter if you're worried.**

* * *

Ian answered his phone on the second ring with an annoyed groan, given that it was the middle of the night and he'd only just fallen asleep.

"Daddy?" Charlotte's voice came across the phone line, small and broken.

Instantly wide awake, he felt panic climb the back of his throat like bile. She hadn't called him Daddy since she was six years old. "Are you okay, mo storín?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level and his tone quiet so he wouldn't wake Emily who was fast asleep beside him.

"Can you come get me?" she whispered.

He was out of bed and grabbing his keys before she'd finished the question.

* * *

When he pulled up to a screeching stop outside Charlotte's best friend's house, noise of the graduation party spilling out into the night, Charlotte was sitting alone on the curb, knees pulled into her chest, body heaving with sobs.

He tried not to let his imagination run away with him, not to jump to the worst possible scenario – perhaps she'd had a fight with her friend or had a little too much to drink and gotten sick. Perhaps this was all an overreaction, a misunderstanding...a histrionic teenage melodrama.

"Lottie?" he said quietly, trying not to startle her with his approach. He settled himself next to her on the sidewalk and reached out a hand to rest on her shoulder. "Charlotte?"

She jolted as if only just realizing he was there. "_Daddy_..." she cried, throwing herself into his arms. Noisy sobs wracked her body as he held her and he could do nothing but whisper soothing words in her ear, telling her everything would be alright, though he was no longer certain that was true.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, stroking her hair – her dark curls had come loose from the elaborate up-do that Emily had pinned them into.

"He hurt me, Daddy," she whispered, voice and body trembling.

"Who hurt you?" he growled, anger racing like ice through his veins. "Tell me what happened."

"I didn't want to," she sniffled, "I told him no, but he didn't listen..."

That's when he got a good look at her – the black eye, the hand prints on her wrists...who knew what he _couldn't _see. "Tell me who did this," he said, voice as calm and level as he could make it while nearly blinded by anger.

"He said if I loved him I'd do it..." Her fists clenched in his shirt, her tears soaking the material where her face pressed into his chest.

Truth be told, Ian had never liked her boyfriend. Emily said it was because he would hate anyone who wanted to take his daughter away, but he _knew_. He'd always known there was something off about that boy.

Silently, he vowed that come hell or high water, that boy would rue the day he ever laid a hand on his daughter.

He gently lifted Charlotte into his arms like he had so many times as a child when she'd fall asleep in the car and he'd carry her to the house so he didn't have to wake her and make the look of angelic peace on her face disappear. "Let's get you to the hospital," he murmured. "Everything is going to be alright."

"_No_!" she insisted, eyes going wide. "No hospital!"

"Lottie," he said gently, "You have to – for tests and police and..."

"_No_!" she nearly screeched, "I'm not going to the police, I won't... I can't... Daddy, _please_."

"Okay," he soothed, settling her in the car, "No police." It was better that way anyway – he would be free to make that boy suffer in the most inhumane ways imaginable without the law getting involved.

* * *

"Where are we?" Charlotte asked when the car pulled to a stop.

The fear and suspicion in her normally trusting eyes made Ian's heart ache. "The drug store," he said as soothingly as possible. "If you won't go to the hospital, you at least need a morning after pill..." He hated saying those words, the way they made his gut twist.

"I can't go in there," she whispered, eyes wide in terror. "Everyone will see – they'll think I'm a slut..."

Ian took stock of her injuries, her torn dress, her red eyes...she looked like a victim. And he'd known Emily long enough to know Charlotte – who took after her in every way – would never be seen as a victim. "I'll go."

She considered that for a moment, then shook her head. "Please, don't leave me," she begged.

Cautiously, he reached out a hand and waited for her to take it. When she did, her palms were clammy, her grip like iron. "You know I'll always protect you, right? If I could stop every evil in life, I would." She nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from this one." He knew it would haunt him to his grave. "I promise nothing is going to happen, okay? I'll be back in five minutes."

Slowly, she nodded.

He squeezed her hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it, and gently eased his hand from her grip.

* * *

Ian handed Charlotte a glass of water and the pill, then waited expectantly as she brought the pill to her lips, then paused. "I can't," she whispered, ashamed. Even in the darkened kitchen, he could see the fear in her eyes.

Concern creased Ian's brow. "Why not?"

"I'm scared," she rasped, tears shining in her eyes.

"You don't have to be afraid," he vowed. "Whatever happens, I'm going to be right here. All day and night until you feel safe again."

"I meant about the pill," she explained. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"Absolutely not," he insisted vehemently. "You've done nothing wrong. This isn't your fault. God knows that." He wasn't certain he believed in God most days – certainly not now, because how could a loving God allow this to happen to his baby girl? But if there was a God, he had to believe He wouldn't want Charlotte to carry that bastard's child. "And any God that would condemn you for this is no God of mine."

Charlotte chewed her lip, considering that.

He sighed softly. "But if you don't want to take that pill, I won't force you. It's your choice. I'm here for you, whatever you need." Her attempt at a smile was forced, but genuine. He changed the subject then, "I think we have half a container of ice cream and I know where your Ma stashes the good chocolate..."

That got a real smile out of her and she nodded before taking the pill.

"Now, do you want me to draw you a bath?"

"I don't want to be alone right now," she said. "But can we watch _Cinderella _together?"

"We can watch anything you want."

As they settled in front of the TV – volume low so they wouldn't wake anyone – Charlotte rested her head on his lap and, after a moment of hesitation, he gently started stroking her hair the way he'd done when she was a child curled up in his lap and fighting sleep, insisting she 'wasn't tired'. Even now, her eyes kept fluttering closed.

"Daddy?" she asked, voice barely there.

"Yes, mo storín?"

"Would you sing to me?" Her eyes were closed and he knew she was on the verge of sleep, but afraid to fall and not be safe when she awoke.

In a raspy whisper, he started singing the only lullaby he knew, the one he'd sang to all his children just as his mother had sang to him.

Slowly, her breathing evened out and he felt the tension bleed out of her as she nodded off, safe in her father's arms...at least for a little while.


	6. Twenty-Three Years Old

"Merry Christmas, Dad!" Charlotte trilled, sweeping in the door Christmas morning and throwing herself in his arms.

"Nollaig Shona, mo storín," he greeted, kissing the top of her head like she was still five.

Her fiance followed after, laden with gifts and suitcases. "Merry Christmas, sir," he greeted, not quite meeting Ian's gaze.

It had taken five years before Ian begrudgingly accepted Charlotte's fiance. His version of 'acceptance', though, looked like shooting the occasional murderous glare at the young man and making them sleep in separate rooms when they visited. And if, when she'd announced their engagement, he'd whispered in her ear that she didn't have to do this, he failed to see any harm in that. He was just protecting his baby girl.

And, no matter how many times Emily told him to be nice and stop frightening the boy, he was simply never going to fully trust him. Call him cynical, but he'd sooner die than let his guard down.

Feeling Emily's glare on his back, Ian reluctantly shook the boy's hand (but he did so with bone-crushing pressure and a threatening stare). Emily swept the boy (who seemed to be internally debating whether he needed an x-ray on his hand) into her embrace in apology for Ian's behaviour (though he failed to see the need for an apology and he'd sooner die than give one).

With a scolding look over her shoulder, Emily commanded Ian to take the suitcases up to the guest room while she shepherded the couple into the living room where the rest of the kids were waiting to open gifts with increasing impatience (they might be teenagers now, but come Christmas morning, they reverted instantly to childhood).

When he returned, Charlotte was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for him with a chiding look on her face, arms crossed over her chest, disappointed but not surprised.

He held up his hands in surrender, already knowing the lecture that followed. "I'll be as nice as I can," he said before she could launch into her rebuke, "No promises, though."

"You're all bark and no bite," she said with a shake of her head, but she was smiling.

"You take that back."

"You're a toothless old tiger," she insisted. She leaned up to kiss his cheek, laughter bubbling up.

He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his tongue as he got a good look at her for the first time that day. She was glowing. "You're pregnant!" he hissed, realization dawning on him.

"Dad!" Charlotte cried.

Emily poked her head around the corner, brow lifted quizzically at the commotion. Seeing Ian looking homicidal, she stepped into the room, ready to mediate and possibly shield the target of his anger.

"That boy _defiled_ our daughter," he accused, jabbing a finger in the direction of the living room where, if he was smart, her fiance was hiding. "I'll kill him..."

"Dad!" Charlotte repeated, voice higher. She tossed her hands in the air dramatically. "You _ruined _it..." she wailed.

"Lottie, what's going on?" Emily asked, ever the voice of reason.

The shouting had attracted the other kids who were now peering cautiously into the room, curious and also annoyed at the delay in opening gifts. Gemma leaned over to whisper in Matthew's ear and he snorted in what might've been laughter. Declan elbowed his brother, reminding him to be quiet lest they be exiled from the room where they couldn't eavesdrop.

Charlotte shook her head and sighed. She left the room without a word, then returned with a wrapped box. "I wanted to surprise you..." she said, pouting, "But Dad had to go and _guess_."

Still confused, Emily took the box and unwrapped it, producing two tiny onesies from inside. One was blue and emblazoned with the words _I Love My Grandma_ and the other green with a familiar shamrock (obviously drawn on by hand, specially made by Charlotte to surprise her father). Eyes wide and slowly misting over, Emily looked to Charlotte for confirmation.

She nodded slowly, wide smile spreading across her face. "Twenty two weeks..." she whispered.

Emily clapped a hand over her mouth, blinking rapidly to ward off the full-blown tears, then pulled her daughter into a suffocating embrace.

After an eternity, Emily released her and Charlotte turned to her father looking hopeful, but braced for his reaction. "You're going to be a Daideó..."

He remained scowling in her fiance's direction.

"Your first grand_son_..." Charlotte continued, watching his reaction, seeing that he was slowly breaking. She pulled a framed ultrasound image from the bottom of the gift, handing it to him. And little by little, try as he might to fight it, he started to warm up.

Emily, sensing the two needed a moment alone, herded everyone back into the living room.

Eyes misty (though he'd never admit it), he looked up from the image to meet his daughter's eyes. "Be honest with me?" She nodded. "Did you want this?"

Charlotte looked deep into his eyes and knew, clear as day, what he was asking, that night all those years ago burning into her mind. "I really did," she murmured. "We both wanted this baby very much." He continued to study her, wary. "Aren't you happy?"

"Of course, I am..." he said slowly. She raised a brow, skeptical. "You're just growing up too fast," he whispered. "You're still five years old, you can't be having a kid. You're still _my _kid..."

She laughed softly, a little watery. "If it helps, I still like Cinderella and purple worms."

His laugh echoed hers. "So long as you don't bring any worms in the house or your mother will skin you alive." He folded her into his chest. "Is this really what you want?" he couldn't help asking again.

"More than anything," she promised.

He sighed sadly, but didn't let her go.

"Do you want to know what we're naming him?" she mumbled against his chest.

He extended her out to arms length, one brow raised in question at her teasing smile.

"If it's alright with you, we want to name him Ian – Ian Malachi..." Her smile was expectant, full of love for the man who'd raised her, who'd given her everything and was still trying to protect her in his own overbearing, slightly frightening way.

He said nothing, just bringing her back into his arms, a few stray tears escaping. "Don't think this means I like that boy any more than before," he said, trying to keep his voice level and threatening.

Charlotte laughed. "Trust me, I know... You'll have to warm up to him one day, though."

Ian scoffed. "Over my dead body." They both knew he was all talk, though, and so long as he made Charlotte happy, he was (mostly) safe from harm.


End file.
